


Dragonblood

by GirlGamer1001



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Dehumanization, Demon Darryl Noveschosch, Demons, Dragon Hybrids, Dragonborn - Freeform, Elemental Magic, Ender Dragon Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Fantasy, Fire Magic, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Fugitives, Gen, Good Demons, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, I'm bad at angst and action, IDK how to write real people, Magic, Nightmares, Ofc I'm not making this up as I go wdym, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Slight OOC, Realistic Minecraft, Secrets, Shapeshifting, So plz don't curse in the comments, Worldbuilding, no swearing on my christian minecraft server
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26338048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlGamer1001/pseuds/GirlGamer1001
Summary: Part Crafter, part something else, with strange traits and unnatural abilities. Mob-Bloods are powerful, dangerous, masters of deception and conformity, and hunted down like wild animals out of fear of their capabilities. Dream, half Ender Dragon, is all too familiar with this; for three months he's been on the run, fleeing the finest hunters in the land, treated like a monster for something beyond his control. It's awful, but it's not like there's been much for him to do about it.Fortunately, he manages to fall in with a group of adventurers who don't know of his true nature or identity. More fortunately, their self-imposed quest to kill the Ender Dragon presents him a chance at returning to normal. But as the journey goes on, Dream learns there may be a reason behind his transformation, and suddenly defeating the source of his problems no longer feels so simple.
Relationships: Muffinteers + Skeppy, No Romantic Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 84
Kudos: 514





	1. A Moment of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most unusual person wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's some stuff about this AU:
> 
> -The world of this story is populated by Crafters, which are basically the players. Humans, of course, are the most common, but there are many different species. Y'know how in fantasy worlds there are elves and dwarves and orcs and stuff, and they're all (usually) considered "people," despite not being human? It's like that with Crafters.
> 
> -All Crafters have access to their own private pocket dimension, which is known as their Inventory. Inventories are used to store objects of personal use and interest to their respective Crafters, which are dropped upon death.
> 
> -Animals both in and not in the game exist. Hostile Mobs like Zombies and those that I consider " _Minecraft_ exclusive," such as Iron Golems, will always have their names capitalized. All non-Crafter entities (with the exception of Villagers and their variants) are considered Mobs in this story.
> 
> -A small percentage of Crafters are born with the abilities and some of the physical features of certain Mobs, which manifest at a random point in each of their lives. Known as Mob-Bloods, they're feared for the powers they possess and the danger they can pose, so they're hunted down, captured, and generally either executed, imprisoned, or somehow put to work; this is usually dependent on what kind of Mob-Blood they are. Mob-Bloods can be any kind of Mob that exists in the game, with the exception of Villagers and Wandering Traders.
> 
> -The rarest and most powerful Mob-Bloods are the Bossbloods, which possess the powers of one of the three Boss Mobs - those being the Ender Dragon, the Wither, and the Elder Guardian. Their rarity is due to how they're only born once every 100 years, with only one of each capable of existing at a time. As a result, they're highly sought after and are considered the most "valuable" Mob-Bloods, whether alive or dead.
> 
> -All Mob-Bloods have minor shapeshifting abilities, which allow them to retract their Mob features and appear as normal Crafters. This process, simply known as shifting, tends to be a bit painful at first, but one gets used to it eventually. The more a Mob-Blood shifts, the better they get at it and the longer they can hold it for, but it can get pretty exhausting if they go over their Limit.
> 
> -Respawning is a thing, but it's a much longer and more complicated process than in-game. We'll get to it eventually.
> 
> This is just some basic information I think you should know before reading. Additional and less important stuff will be included in the notes of future chapters. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> UPDATE 11/11/2020: Added a little prelude because this chapter just felt too short. Hopefully it doesn't give away too much of what I have planned for the future. ;)

_Silhouetted fingers felt along the wall, delving into the various grooves and niches carved into the stone. A figure, garbed in a cloak a dark, purplish-grey color and edged with silver, walked silently through the tunnel. Their face was obscured by the shadow of their hood, only the dim glow of their eyes visible. If one looked closely, they'd notice one eye was cloudy, unfocused, and the other had an otherworldly shine to it. But not many ever looked closely._

_There were multiple reasons why, but among them was simply because not many ever gained the opportunity to meet this being. For the most part, they kept themselves confined to this place, to the interlocking network of underground caves and passages and long-buried ruins they patrolled, to the histories and ancient legends etched and scrawled across the walls. They were its guardian, the keeper of the stories preserved here._

_They paused at one of the engravings. Their fingers traced the shapes of wings, of lightning, of fire and crowns. Of three magical artifacts radiating power, safe in the grips of three pairs of clawed hands. Of swords and other weapons, of gemstones and the symbol of a dark creature. Of armies poised for battle, of the hand of a king and the grin of a tyrant. Of three great beasts, looming over all - ominous threats, or benevolent spectators?_

_The guardian didn't see the same as most people. They saw what might be, not what currently was. Already, they could see events playing out - a kingdom falling, a legendary being standing in the midst of a battle, a team of unlikely heroes rising against an oncoming evil. They saw other possibilities, too - destruction, disaster, the deaths of many innocent lives. The unlikely heroes failing, or becoming just as unlikely villains, spelling an ultimate end rather than a new beginning._

_They heaved a deep, quiet sigh. Despite what their surroundings suggested, they knew nothing was set in stone. They knew things were changeable, that one small, unexpected action could redirect the flow of time entirely. They knew there was no assurance that the future they favored would come true._

_But they'd do what they could. The hundred years were almost up. They'd had a presence so far, they'd fulfilled the tasks they'd been given. If they kept playing their part in this version of life, the chances increased that they'd achieve the outcome they wanted. They just had to be patient._

_Deep down, they prayed they wouldn't have to wait much longer._

* * *

The rising of the Sun serves as a cue for the world. When the first rays of light breach the horizon, turning the deep, dark blue sky various oranges and pinks, it signals for the creatures of the night to retreat to their hiding places - those being whatever shadows they initially crawled out of the night before. At the break of dawn, roosters crow, flowers reopen, and even a few people get out of bed and start their day.

But back to those "creatures of the night." Their aversion to sunlight isn't only because they're better adapted to nocturnality, it's because they burn up in the daytime. Caves are the best option when it comes to avoiding this fate, but not all of the Skeletons and Zombies can reach one in time. In such cases, all the undead can do is find the shadow of a tree and wait for nightfall. And if you're looking for tree shadows, your best bet is a forest. A dark oak forest, preferably.

In one of these forests, the trees grew so large and so close together that very little light actually made its way through the leafy canopy overhead. But as the undead and Creepers and other nightcrawlers revelled in the protection of the shadows, a few stray sunbeams managed to bypass the green barrier above, shining directly into the face of perhaps the most peculiar being in the woods.

Behind his white smiley-face mask, Dream's eyes cracked open. Slowly, he sat up, yawning and stretching, careful not to lose his balance on the branch he was sitting on. He couldn't help but wince at the sound of joints cracking; despite the past few months, sleeping in trees was somehow still taking its toll on him. At least it kept him mostly safe from monsters and anything else that would want to kill him. Speaking of which...

He moved into a half-kneeling position, one hand on the trunk of the tree as he surveyed what he could see of the forest floor. His ears pricked up, listening carefully for anything that would sound unusual in a place like this (he'd come to hold an appreciation for the increased senses, particularly hearing and smell). Unconsciously, his tail unwrapped from the branch, it and his wings arranging themselves to stay out of the way if he needed to start running.

He waited. And he listened.

........

Nothing.

No feet trampling and crashing through the underbrush, no obnoxious British accents taunting him and calling his name. Nothing but the typical sounds of a dark oak forest in the early morning. Dream breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing back against the tree. Any day where he could wake up without the "King's Finest" on both his metaphorical _and_ literal tail was already shaping up to be a day that didn't totally suck. Taking advantage of the peace and quiet, he opened his Inventory and took out some bread and a water bottle. Not the ideal breakfast, but he'd learnt to take what he could get.

As he ate, Dream allowed his mind to wander, thinking back on the past couple of months. Really, he should've known something was up the day one of his eyes changed. Sure, at first glance it seemed to be the same as the other, but there was a distinctive purple ring around the pupil - which itself looked thinner, like that of a snake. He'd thought that was weird, but he shrugged it off. He decided not to worry that the purple ring was getting bigger with every passing day.

Then there were the claws. His fingernails started growing really long and really sharp, the tips of them turning a dull silver. He'd been confused, but decided to just keep filing them down whenever they got too long. Eventually he was filing them every morning. And when the day came that it seemed his nails would never wear down again, he started wearing gloves. He'd been so preoccupied that he didn't even notice how his teeth were gradually growing sharp as well.

The horns were what finally got him worried. Small, dark grey ones poking just above his hair, curving backwards like a goat's. In what currently remained as the biggest "oh, dang" moment of his life, Dream belatedly realized there was clearly something wrong with him. And it wasn't a mystery as to what exactly that "something" was.

He was a Mob-Blood. An _Ender Dragon_ Mob-Blood. One of the rarest and most powerful Mob-Bloods of all.

That was the day he started hiding. He wasn't _that_ stupid; he knew what would happen if he told someone about this. Mob-Bloods were monsters, freaks, abominations of nature, and they were ruthlessly hunted down, captured, and never seen again - that is, unless someone decided to make a big show out of their execution or keep them as some sort of messed-up "pet." If he tried to find help, he might as well have just turned himself in. So hats and hoods to hide the horns, gloves for the claws, sunglasses for the eyes. He left his house less frequently, only doing so when necessary, and always kept his head down and stayed inconspicuous. Even once the wings and tail grew in and patches of black scales began developing on his skin - all of which had been quite painful processes - Dream liked to think he was doing pretty well at not being noticed.

But then someone got smart.

He was still clueless as to what he could've possibly done to draw attention to himself. Maybe someone saw the tips of his claws through the gloves, or noticed the wing-shaped lumps under his clothes. He didn't know, and likely never would, but whatever it was had been enough to attract a group of elite soldiers to his door. They claimed it was protocol, that a Mob-Blood had been reported in the area and they needed to make sure no one was hiding it. Standard stuff, supposedly, but Dream knew it was just meant to make him let his guard down.

 _King's Finest_. The notion made him scoff then and it made him scoff now. Technoblade must've been completely out of his mind if he believed those guys were half as competent as they thought they were. Two of them were children, for crying out loud! If they were meant to be the best hunters around, then they should've known exactly what a Mob-Blood would do in such a situation. He hadn't spent every day since his realization packing his Inventory for nothing.

That had been three months ago. And now here he was, sleeping in trees, barely getting by on food, fighting off monsters pretty much every night. Some days he couldn't do anything but run (he had to give those hunters credit; annoying or not, their persistence was admirable). Returning home was out of the question, as was trying to rejoin society at all. But, hey, at least he was still alive. He knew most of his kind ( _gosh_ , did saying that still not feel right) couldn't say that about themselves.

Finishing off his water with a sigh, Dream looked at his reflection in the empty bottle. He'd definitely changed ever since the hunt started. Slightly taller, still fairly lanky, but a little more muscular from all the running and fighting. His skin was a bit tanner wherever it wasn't covered by scales the color of a bottomless pit, both wracked with a few small scars from past scraps and close calls. The horns now towered over his dirty blonde hair, the exact color of his fingernails-turned-claws. Sharp fangs and a purple forked tongue filled his mouth. Dark grey wings with black membrane grew out of his back, a bit too small for flight but just enough for gliding. Grey spikes ran down his spine; his long, black, prehensile tail was once a constant tripping hazard, but now it expertly tucked itself between his wings and away from his feet whenever he needed to run, and acted as a handy extra limb on other occasions. Internally, an End Crystal had grown next to his heart, pulsing with magic in time with his heartbeat.

His clothing had changed, too, mostly pilfered from village junk piles and trash pits (hey, a man on the run can't be too picky, and he wasn't about to start stealing things and give himself a REAL reason to be arrested). Reluctantly, he'd given up his grey-blue hoodie when the hood got caught on a tree branch during a chase. It had been replaced with a lime green and admittedly much softer one - more obvious, sure, but it was all he could get at the time. Dark grey pants, black gloves to protect his hands from calluses (fingerless, of course, to account for the claws), black-and-white shoes designed specifically for running long, long distances. On a chain around his neck hung another, smaller End Crystal, which worked in tandem with the one in his body to heal him when he was hurt. Most noticeable of all was the white mask that covered everything above his mouth, kept in place by a black leather strap and decorated with a simple smiling face. It kept his features hidden, but he still remembered what was under it: freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, black scales clinging along the edges of his forehead and a lone one to the space between his eyes - the left one emerald-green and human, the right one purple and reptilian.

No matter how much he shifted, his right eye never turned back. It had completely changed color just the day before the soldiers arrived, and it seemed intent on staying that way forever.

Dream shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he stored the bottle back in his Inventory. His claws dug into the bark of the tree as he made his way down, still keeping his eyes and ears open for anything hostile, Mobs or otherwise. Once he reached the ground, he paused for a moment, looking at the trees surrounding him.

There was a certain beauty to a forest in the early morning. Sunlight just barely visible above the leaves, creeping in through every gap it could find. Birds singing overhead, a melodic chorus of chirps and tweets. Nearby, a rabbit sniffed at a flower, its ears twitching as it listened for danger - much like him, honestly.

Dream inhaled deeply, the scent of dark oak and morning dew and, distantly, the burning flesh of a Zombie that wandered too close to the light filling his nostrils. A content smile formed on his face, one of the few that had ever appeared since the hunt started. He rarely got to have moments like this anymore, moments where he could simply _exist_ and enjoy _being_ without the threat of death looming over his head. It was almost enough to make him forget his current situation.

Hands in the pockets of his jacket, Dream began to walk, intent on enjoying this brief period of respite as much as he could. It would be over far too soon, just a moment of peace before he'd start running again. But that was then. This was now.

And for now, the Dragonblood was more than happy to just keep walking, listening to the sounds of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2,310
> 
> WARNING: This author often suffers from chronic conditions of writer's block. There may be long periods of time between chapters before another is posted. Stay tuned.


	2. Mr. Squeegee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream finds a weird fish, and something a bit larger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Fact: The proper term for putting an arrow in a bow is "nocking."
> 
> Crafter Fact: Most Crafters have a sixth sense that tells them each other's preferred pronouns. I, unfortunately, do not. Please tell me if I screw up anywhere in that department.

For the next few hours, Dream remained alone, save for the occasional monster crossing his path and trying to pick a fight with him. Even then, he didn't mind; it was nice to get a form of exercise other than sprinting like his life depended on it (which it did). Say what you will about Skeletons, but at least they're predictable: nock, draw, shoot, nock, draw, shoot, nock, draw, shoot, over and over and over again. They never try to mix things up and confuse or outsmart you. Crafters often do, even the ones that are half Mob.

He would know. Outsmarting others was kinda his whole thing.

Eventually, the forest came to an end at a river too wide to swim across, yet narrow enough that the rolling plains on the other side were visible. _Heck. No._ Plains were a death sentence for a man on the run. No cover to hide you, no caves to duck into, trees spaced so far apart there was no point in climbing them... It really made you understand the panic monsters went through whenever the Sun came up. If you went out into an open field with a price on your head, you might as well have been holding up a giant glowing sign reading "FIRST PERSON TO TURN ME IN TO THE AUTHORITIES GETS FIFTEEN EMERALDS!!!"

Fortunately, the woods still stretched upstream, towards a small range of mountains. Perfect. Mountains meant caves, and caves meant resources and good hiding places. Plus, Crafters tended to be _terrible_ at climbing and navigating mountains; something about the lower oxygen levels just seemed to get to them. He could probably hide up there, unbothered, for a week or two before the King's Blindest (he really needed to come up with a better nickname for them) found him.

So that's where he would head next. At the moment, though, Dream was on his knees next to the river, watching as several fish ate the bread crumbs he had scattered into the water. Quick as a flash, one hand plunged in and snatched up a particularly large cod, sending the other fish diving away in alarm. Dream stored his catch safely away in his Inventory before reaching for the bread again, sprinkling more of it right where he'd dropped the first bits. Sure enough, more fish - some of them likely ones that he'd just scared off - swam up obviously.

Hey, it's not the most _efficient_ way to catch fish, but it works. Food might not spoil in an Inventory, but a guy can only tolerate bread for so long, y'know?

He'd been sitting there for several minutes, having caught twelve fish (not counting a very lost and confused-looking pufferfish, which he decided to take with him and release into the nearest ocean) when he saw it. An average-sized salmon, nibbling away at crumbs, with some kind of collar around it. Probably a piece of trash it had gotten caught in.

Dream sighed. Maybe it was the Mob in him talking, but he'd really grown to hate how careless people could be with nature. He took out a bucket and scooped the salmon up with it, intending to remove the collar and send the fish on its way, when he noticed something else hanging from the band. Something small and circular, glinting in the sunlight.

He looked closer, one hand carefully reaching to turn over the collar so the circular thing was facing him. Now that the salmon wasn't clouded by mud from the river, he could see that the collar was carefully positioned just behind the fish's gill flaps, and actually rather loose;tight enough not to slip off, but not so much as to risk strangling it. It was clearly placed there by someone who wanted to mark this fish somehow, but not in a way that caused it pain.

And, judging by how the circular thing was in fact a silver tag reading "Mr. Squeegee," the salmon was someone's pet.

Dream put this together just as he heard splashing and a voice yelling "Mr. Squeegee!" from behind him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The head of a shadowy figure (as in, he seemed to literally be a shadow) wearing a black and red hood was bobbing in the water, glowing white eyes squinting in Dream's direction. Two small, demonic horns poked out the top of his hood, a large golden hoop dangling around the left one and giving off a faint light. "Hey," the stranger called, the inside of his mouth glowing the same white as his eyes, outlining the shapes of two small, pointed fangs, "can you give back my fish, please?"

Now, if this had happened at any point before Dream learned he was a Dragonblood, he would've had some questions - questions that he still had now, in fact. Namely "Who are you?" and "What are you doing in this river?" and "Why would you name a salmon 'Mr. Squeegee'?" Regardless, he would've done as the shadow-person asked and given him his fish, because honestly, he didn't seem like someone with bad intentions. His voice was far too kind.

On the other hand, keep in mind that the only consistent Crafter contact Dream had had for the last three months had been with a bunch of ~~idiots~~ soldiers bent on killing him for the _unforgivable_ crime of existing. That kind of attitude tends to make you extremely paranoid of whoever you meet. I mean, most of the time you can't really tell the average Joes and good Samaritans apart from the trained assassins and ruthless bounty hunters until someone ends up sticking a knife in your back - whether that be literal or metaphorical is really all up to them.

That's why for a few short seconds, Dream was frozen in place, staring at the shadow-person. It wasn't until said shadow-person began swimming to shore and asked "Hey, are you okay?" that, without thinking, the Dragonblood shot to his feet and raced into the forest, the bucket containing Mr. Squeegee clutched tightly to his chest.

He didn't fully realize what he was doing until he could hear the stranger's cries of "Stop! Wait!" and the sound of running behind him. Dream snarled under his breath in a very dragon-like way. Some part of him wanted to stop and just give the guy's fish back so they could both get on with their lives, but some other part of him reasoned - almost hysterically - that darting off into the woods like this made him look pretty dangsuspect. Not to mention that the guy had seen him unshifted and would most likely recognize him the second he got another look. The hysterical part, unfortunately, was the one in control of his legs, so he just kept running.

Eventually, in a move that seemed to be an agreement between the stopping side and the running side, Dream began to scurry up the nearest tree, using his tail to drop the bucket on the ground behind him (even in panic, he couldn't help but be gentle about it). He didn't stop climbing until he was well up and hidden among the leaves, and reached for the nearest limb. Hugging it, he inched along the branch until he reached a not-very-noticeable break in the leaves, just big enough for him to peer out of. From here he could watch the ground without being seen if anybody happened to look up. At least, he _hoped_ he wouldn't be seen.

Not a minute later, the shadow-person staggered into view, panting heavily. Now that he wasn't mostly submerged in water, Dream could get a better look at him. His hood was actually part of a caped coat, black with red stripes along the sleeves and collar. There was a grey checkerboard-patterned scarf around his neck, which exactly matched the color of his gloves and boots. His pants matched his coat, the red forming upside-down Y's on each leg, and a leather strap was slung across his body, likely holding a weapon on his back under the cape. Strangely, however, out of the back of his pants there poked a long, thin tail, made of the same shadowy substance as his face, and tipped with a triangular red spike.

 _Oh, Notch above_ _,_ Dream realized. _This guy's a **Demon**._

Demons were known for being notorious tricksters, duping people into making deals that hardly benefited them, and just causing general mischief and mayhem. Some were said to be insanely powerful, able to level entire cities with just a flick of the wrist, and there were even rumors that they were created by Herobrine himself and ate souls. Dream didn't want to generalize - especially not when the public opinion of Demons was so similar to the public opinion of Mob-Bloods - but even the ones that were content to keep to themselves and not bother anyone had a tendency to bring chaos with them wherever they went.

Still, this guy seemed different, and not in a prejudiced way. He might've been the first Demon Dream had ever seen for himself, but he was _pretty sure_ they weren't normally made of shadows. And he was _mostly certain_ they didn't usually have glowing rings - _A_ _halo,_ he realized - hanging from their horns.

Still trying to catch his breath, the Demon limped to the foot of the tree and picked up the bucket. He hugged it tightly for a moment, mumbling something under his breath, then stored it and Mr. Squeegee safely away in his Inventory. He looked up, causing Dream to shrink back from his little peephole, but not before noticing the glasses the shadow was now wearing. Hm. Maybe he _hadn't_ seen Dream unshifted after all.

"Hey... Are you up there?" the Demon managed between gasps. "I gotta say... you're fast. Whew... Haven't run like that... since they were having... that sale on muffins down at the marketplace. Ninety-nine percent off, can you believe that?! Haha... Hah..." He leaned against the tree for support. "Thanks for... catching my fish back there. Even if you... ran off. D-do you mind if I ask why, though?"

Dream stayed silent, though internally he was engaged in a heated argument with himself. Option A: Pretend he wasn't up here, wait for the guy to leave, then climb down and continue towards the mountains. He'd feel guilty for making the stranger look like a weirdo who talks to trees, but at least his life wouldn't be at any more risk than it already was. Option B: Climb down, accept the thanks, and apologize for his reaction. There was a fifty-fifty chance the Demon would do a typical Demon thing and screw him over somehow, but there was also a fifty-fifty chance that he'd turn out to be the laid-back type and maybe become a travelling buddy. Running from the law can get pretty lonely sometimes.

After a few seconds, loneliness won out over paranoia, and Dream backed towards the trunk to climb down. Just as his foot got a good hold, however, a new voice cut through the silence.

"Bad, is there a reason why you're talking to a tree?"

Dream nearly fell on the spot.

_That's a British accent._

The hunters had found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1,874
> 
> Is it unrealistic to put a collar on a fish? Yes.
> 
> Is it unrealistic to be part dragon? Also yes.
> 
> All I'm saying is that sometimes it's best not to question the realism of a fanfiction based on a video game where everything is cubes. Also, it was the only way I could think of conveying how a Name Tag would work.


	3. Awkward Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in months, Dream meets people that _don't_ want to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, you're all completely and totally free to make fanart for this fic. I can't draw for jack, so it'd be greatly appreciated. No pressure or anything tho. :)

It took Dream an embarrassing number of seconds to realize that the new voice was not, in fact, one of the King's Finest's. It took a slightly more embarrassing number to pry his claws out of the branch, and an even more embarrassing number to stop mentally face-palming over it.

Cut him some slack, you get jumpy when the only people you ever hear from for three months are a bunch of nimrods trying to kill you.

Below him, the Demon apparently known as Bad turned back towards the direction of the river. "Oh, hey guys," he greeted. "I'm just thanking the guy who saved Mr. Squeegee."

"A tree?" came another new voice, deeper than the first and without an accent.

"No you muffin, the guy _in_ the tree."

There was the sound of several pairs of feet crunching grass and leaves as the newcomers approached Dream's hiding spot. The Dragonblood inched back towards his peephole, risking another look down, and saw that Bad was now accompanied by two humans and... Huh. You didn't see a lot of Gemfolk anymore.

The first human had somewhat pale skin and brown hair, his eyes obscured by thick, white goggles with heavily-tinted lenses. He wore a light blue shirt with a white rectangle outlined in red on the chest, darker blue jeans, and black leather boots. A sword was tucked into the scabbard hanging from his belt, and a rectangular shield was strapped to his back.

The other man was tanner and slightly taller than the first, a white headband tied around his black and unkempt hair, warm brown eyes giving off a faint orange glow. His own shirt was white with a flame on the front, the black sleeves of a longer undershirt covering his arms and matching his pants. He wore shoes much like Dream's and, like the first human, had a sheathed sword at his side, though he lacked a shield.

The last newcomer was a Gemfolk, a humanoid being made of any sort of gemstone or mineral. This one in particular appeared to be a Diamond, as evidenced by the cyan coloration of his crystalline skin. He had rounded spikes on the top of his head that seemed to mimic hair (in fact, they actually looked softer than the rest of his body), and his eyes were the color of rich, fertile soil. His attire consisted of an oversized dark blue hoodie and lighter-colored jeans, bluish-black sneakers and a beanie the same color as his skin, with a sort of derpy face on it. Unlike the humans, he had no sword; instead, he held a rather flimsy-looking axe with a wooden blade.

Yeah. Definitely _not_ the King's Finest. Still, Dream couldn't help but be nervous. The last time he'd entered a town there had been wanted posters with his name on them stuck to every other wall. Sure, they weren't the most informative or up-to-date (the drawing supposedly based on eyewitness reports was from a time before the mask) and not exactly "accurate" (The Mob-Blood thing, fine, but come on. _Arson_ , _larceny_ and _mass homicide?_ Almost made him think there was another Dragonblood on the loose that people were confusing him for.), but you can't run from the law for three months and _not_ become wary of new people.

This ideology was amplified tenfold when the Gemfolk produced a flint and steel from his Inventory and set the tree on fire.

"SKEPPY!" Bad scolded harshly, immediately taking out a bucket (not the one containing Mr. Squeegee, thankfully) and throwing the water it held onto the fire.

"What? If they're up in the tree and not coming down, then you should make them come down," the Diamond-person replied nonchalantly. "And you let Sapnap set stuff on fire all the time!"

"Because Sapnap never tries to start forest fires or burn down random people's houses," the man with the goggles deadpanned, gesturing to the other human with one hand. "Also, he's a Pyro, we're _supposed_ to let him set stuff on fire. Unless we actually WANT him to violently explode in a bundle of flames and his own burning flesh."

"For the record, I still think that would be AWESOME, just not for me personally," the fire-shirt guy piped up.

Skeppy scoffed, irritated, but put away the flint and steel. "Fine, then just leave them alone and let's get going again. Caves aren't gonna find themselves, y'know."

"But that would be rude!" Bad protested. "I can't just have Mr. Squeegee saved by someone and then _not_ properly thank them for it! That'd be setting a bad example for him!"

"Dude. It's a _fish_ ," said Sapnap. "And if anybody's being rude, it's whoever's up in that tree refusing to come down and accept your thanks right now. Not worth the time, if you ask me."

 _Hey!... Actually, on second thought, that's fair,_ Dream thought as the group continued to talk amongst themselves. He felt his heart and the thrumming of its End Crystal neighbor gradually slow down, relieved that the Crafters below were too busy debating if he was still up there to actually check and see. But then something happened that made his panic immediately spike up again.

The branch gave a long, drawn-out crack.

_Uh oh._

The four strangers looked up just as Dream's perch completely gave way, the hybrid unable to contain his yell of surprise. Smaller boughs of leaves whipped at his face and clothes as he fell, and though his mask kept the former mostly protected, the same couldn't be said for the rest of him.

This proved true when he found himself with his foot caught between two offshoots of a lower, stronger limb, leaving him dangling upside-down right in front of the group. All four of its members started back, the goggles guy in particular letting out a high-pitched scream as he did so, but none of them ran off like Dream had expected them to.

Let's be honest, how many of _you_ would be able to hold your ground at the sight of a man with a creepy smiling mask dropping out of a tree three feet from your face?

Several long moments of silence passed, the Dragonblood and the Crafters just staring at each other. It was so quiet that Dream was certain they could hear the pulsing of his End Crystals, surprisingly calm despite the situation he was currently in. "Uh... Hi," he finally managed, giving the group a sheepish grin.

Bad was the first to respond. "Oh, hi!" he greeted, his tail perking upwards excitedly. "We were just talking about you!"

"Yeah, I heard."

"So, I take it you're the mysterious saviour of Bad's fish?" Goggles Guy asked, earning an "I guess so" shrug from the masked man. "Well, nice to see that you've finally come down to accept his thanks. Cool mask."

"Thanks, and sorry about that," Dream replied. "I, uh, don't see a lot of new people these days, so I tend to get kinda jumpy." He looked towards his caught ankle. "Um, could somebody please help me down?"

"I'm on it!" said Sapnap, a ball of fire suddenly appearing in the palm of his hand. He threw it towards the fork of the branch, cleanly burning it off the rest of the limb, and sending Dream falling to the ground in a shower of leaves and wood. Seemed he really _was_ a Pyro.

"Wha- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?" Skeppy shouted, clearly frustrated that Sapnap had just been allowed to do exactly what he'd been denied five minutes ago.

Dream picked himself off the forest floor, rubbing his head and checking if his End Crystal had been damaged in the fall. Luckily, aside from a small crack that was already repairing itself, it was perfectly fine. He was about to tuck it into the collar of his hoodie when he froze, noticing his hand.

His very claw-free hand.

Huh. So that's why these guys weren't currently trying to run him through with their swords. He must've been getting better at shifting if he could do it without noticing.

There was movement in front of him, and Dream looked up to see Goggles Guy, offering his own hand. Taking it, the hybrid was helped to his feet; standing at full height, he was visibly a bit taller than the surrounding Crafters.

"Dang, you're tall," Sapnap confirmed.

"Yeah, he is." Goggles Guy folded his arms, looking up at Dream. It was hard to tell with his goggles, but Dream was pretty sure his eyes were narrowed. "So, if you don't mind me asking... what exactly are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I could ask you guys the same thing," Dream shot back, his own eyes narrowing (the mask seemed to be enchanted so that the eyes moved with his real ones, so at least he didn't have to worry about _his_ suspicion not being visible).

"Oh, we're on a quest to kill the Ender Dragon!" Bad said brightly.

"BAD!" the other three Crafters shouted.

"What? That's what we're doing out here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you can't just tell random people in the forest that!" said Skeppy. "If they know about it then they might go off on their own quest and kill it before we do!"

"Not to mention," added Sapnap, "there's a chance that, uh..." His voice dropped. "There's a chance that they might turn out to be the... you-know-who... and try to stop us. And by 'try to' I mean 'definitely' 'cuz have you _seen_ the posters? That guy could probably kill us with a fishing rod."

Goggles Guy pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. "Sapnap, how many times do I have to tell you? The Dragonblood isn't real! He's just something Wilbur made up to keep his gang occupied. Techno's got enough on his plate right now; the last thing he needs is Tommy starting _another_ war over something petty."

"Yeah, 'cuz establishing an independent nation is petty," Skeppy snarked.

"He wanted to start a _drug empire_. And I was referring to the time he burned down half a village because someone stole his music discs."

"We all make mistakes in the heat of passion, George."

"Hang on," Dream interrupted, intrigued by the Demon's words. "You're... going to kill the Ender Dragon?"

Bad nodded. "Yep! A mysterious shadowy figure in a cool cloak said we would, so that's what we're gonna do! Well, technically they said we would 'harness the power of the Bosses' and become renowned throughout the land, but obviously in order to do that we have to kill the Bosses to get their power, right? We decided to start with the Dragon 'cuz-"

"Can I come with you?" Dream blurted.

Heads turned. Bad blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"To kill the Dragon. Can I come with you?" Dream asked, knowing that if his tail was out it would be wagging with excitement. Call him crazy, but in his experience, being a Dragonblood wasn't the barrel of monkeys you'd think it'd be. Sure, the powers were cool, the new look was neat, he was half freaking dragon and dragons are freaking AWESOME... But at the core of it, he was still a fugitive, unable to go home, running for his life from a one-way ticket to the guillotine if he was lucky, the gallows if he wasn't. His crime? Being a Mob-Blood.

He was getting the death sentence all because his right eye had the _audacity_ to start turning purple.

How did killing the Ender Dragon fit into this? Well, for as long as Mob-Bloods had been known to exist, there had been speculation about ways to permanently revert their transformations. One of the most popular theories was that every Mob-Blood had a corresponding Mob of the same type, the existence of which directly caused the change in the first place. Supposedly, if that Mob (the Origin, as the theory called it) was killed by its matching Mob-Blood (the Offshoot), the Mob-Blood would be forever changed back into a normal Crafter.

Again, call Dream crazy, but he was also desperate.

The four questers exchanged looks, silently debating if they should let him join them. "Are you any good at fighting monsters?" Goggles Guy - _George,_ Dream corrected himself - finally asked.

The Dragonblood smirked. "Well, I don't mean to brag, but you don't get stuff like this-" He pulled out an enchanted bow he'd gotten off a Skeleton several weeks ago, repaired by his own hand. "-if you're not at _least_ better-than-average."

Skeppy gave an impressed whistle. "Niiiice. Okay, dude, you're in. Welcome to the team!"

"Awesome, thank you! Oh, again, sorry about the whole running off thing."

"Aw, no worries," Bad said, waving his hand. "I guess we should properly introduce ourselves! I'm Bad, I'm a Demon if you couldn't tell, and you've already met Mr. Squeegee."

"I'm Skeppy, wielder of the great Axe of Worldedit!" Skeppy proclaimed, holding his wooden axe over his head as if it was a powerful weapon.

"I'm Sapnap, Pyro-in-training, on my way to becoming the best Pyro ever," said Sapnap, creating another fireball and tossing it back and forth between his hands.

"And I'm George. Uh... I don't know, I'm colorblind, I guess," finished George, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and finally revealing his eyes (which were a rather nice shade of blue-brown). "And you are?"

Dream grinned, taking George's outstretched hand and shaking it. "I'm Dream. Let's just say my thing with the Ender Dragon is a personal one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2,252
> 
>  **Pyro:** A person naturally imbued with powerful fire and/or lava-based magic. They need to use their abilities on a regular basis, or they'll risk their magic building up within their body to the point of a complete overload, causing them to explode.
> 
> You have to admit, that _would_ be kinda cool. Unpleasant to experience personally and disturbing on certain levels to witness, but kinda cool.
> 
> IDK if it's accurate, but according to Google George and Bad are 5'9", Sapnap is 5'10", and Skeppy is 5'7" (5'8" with shoes).
> 
> Meanwhile, Dream is 6'2"-6'3".
> 
> Part of that is probably from the Ender Dragon genes, right?
> 
> EDIT: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUDGE I JUST CHECKED MY YOUTUBE SUBS WHAT THE ACTUAL FUDGE DO U MEAN MINECRAFT STEVE IS IN SMASH BROS
> 
> EDIT TWO: [Awesome fanart](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGNltdTnLj5/?igshid=6l3vhl6frowl) by [RainbowBowtie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowBowtie/pseuds/RainbowBowtie), thank you so much!


	4. Shifting and Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream hates having to stay shifted for a long time. He hates lying even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get too far along here, I just think I should mention that I don't watch Twitch and don't actively follow what happens on the SMP. Everything I know about it and some of the players on it (including those this fic calls the King's Finest) has been gathered from stuff I've seen in other parts of this fandom. I apologize for any inaccuracies that may occur in possible future SMP-inspired plot points and/or character portrayals.
> 
> Anyway that Halloween Championship, eh?

Dream's first regret was not accounting for how long he'd have to stay shifted.

Sure, he must've gotten pretty decent at it if he'd reached the point of being able to do it without noticing. And that wasn't an easy feat - however numb you grew to it, shifting _hurt_. It was a kind of pain comparable to one that might set in after banging your head against a wall for a couple of minutes. Yeah, it got easier the more often you did it, and you became better at holding it for longer periods of time, but Dream had never stayed shifted for more than a few hours before. Already, he could feel his hand starting to cramp up, and it'd only been about half an hour. He was _not_ looking forward to the inevitable moments of reaching and then going over his Limit.

His second regret was not anticipating how friendly and welcoming these total strangers would be towards someone they just met. It was one thing that they'd let him join in on their quest so easily, no suspicious looks or interrogating involved, but now they were walking along and talking with him as if he'd always been a part of the group. Either the Muffinteers (as Bad had enthusiastically declared when Dream asked if their team had a name, eliciting groans from the other three Crafters and a chuckle from the hybrid) were extremely foolish, or they knew exactly who and what he was after all and were leading him into a trap.

(He highly doubted it was the second thing, though. If what George had said earlier was any indication, at least some people believed the Dragonblood was just an elaborate hoax the Finest made up to keep themselves occupied.)

In any case, the four adventurers were sticking to him like bark to a tree. Turns out they'd been heading towards the mountains too, in need of iron for armor and tools. A little further upstream, when they'd stopped to gather fresh water, Skeppy had "released" Mr. Squeegee into the river despite Bad's vehement protests; in desperation, the Demon had jumped in and swam after his beloved pet, and his friends had followed from the shore. Now that the fish was safe and sound and back with his owner, they were back on track, with a new accomplice in tow.

A new accomplice that they had _just met_ , who they knew literally _nothing_ about, yet were acting like they'd known him their whole lives and not regarding him with the slightest hint of distrust.

Maybe it was the past three months of weird looks and side glances whenever he dared near any signs of society, but for the life of him Dream couldn't comprehend why _anyone_ would be so quick to trust him - especially when he was lying to them like this.

That right there was his third regret.

Dream did not like, nor was he particularly good at, lying.

And he _really_ didn't like how much he was gonna have to lie to these guys.

* * *

By sundown they had reached the river's source: a large, circular lake nestled in the shadow of the nearest mountain, situated beneath a tall ridge. On the leftmost shore stood a willow tree, its leaves hanging so low they just barely touched the surface of the water beside it. Near the tree, a waterfall came cascading down from somewhere on the cliff overhead, which was made accessible by a steep slope on the opposite side.

"The Steelclaw Mountains," Bad confirmed, he and the rest of the group craning their necks back to stare up at the grey peaks towering above them. "They're... kinda different from this close."

"Yeah. More... immediate," Dream agreed.

"And taller. Definitely taller," said Skeppy. "Anyone see any caves?"

"None that we'd reach before dark, no," answered George. "Let's camp here for the night and continue in the morning. Sapnap's on fire duty, as always; Skeppy and Bad, you find out if that crafting table has finally collapsed yet. Dream-" He produced a thick bundle of torches from his Inventory. "-Any chance you'd be willing to help me set these up?"

(When camping out in the open, it's always a good idea to light up the area you're in. Monsters are vicious but not all that smart, and a lot of light can confuse them into thinking it's still daytime.)

Dream shrugged, acting unbothered but secretly desperate for something to distract him from the pain slowly rising all throughout his body. "Sure, why not? Beats sitting around being useless."

With that the group split, three of the Crafters heading towards the willow tree as the other went another direction with the shifted Dragonblood. Setting up torches was a simple but very repetitive task, one that got boring extremely quickly. Dream would hold the stave steady and keep his fingers away from the flat bit at the top, and George would hammer it into the ground with an old, beat-up-looking stone shovel. Then they'd have to judge by sight alone what was a reasonable distance from here to the next torch, hammer that one into the ground, then whoops, they were just _ever-so-slightly off_ with their calculations, gotta pry that dumb little piece of wood out of the ground and move it somewhere else!

(This might sound like needless perfectionism, but believe me, _every inch counts_. All it really takes is one little gap in the torches for your entire camp to be flooded by Creepers and Spiders.)

"So, George," Dream said after a couple minutes of working in silence. "I guess you're kinda the leader here, huh?"

"What? No." George was so surprised by the question that he completely missed his swing, the stone spade uselessly hitting the ground beside the torch. "We don't have a leader, that's not how we work. And even if we did, what makes you think it'd be me?"

The Dragonblood blanched behind his mask. No leader? Well, okay, it was probably a little unfair to be comparing the Muffinteers with the Finest, but still, how could a group like this function without someone in charge of it? "I dunno," he shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I was just wondering."

"Well, I'm not." The human finished driving in the flare and stood up to move to another spot. "Actually, if we _did_ have a leader, it'd most likely be Bad. He's smart, logical, loyal and kind, but not afraid to throw down when he has to. Meanwhile, I'll admit..." At this he flushed, handing Dream another torch. "I'm not really the bravest or the strongest person here, and for the apparent brains of the team, I can be pretty stupid sometimes."

"Oh, I know _that_ feeling," Dream agreed, as he did.

"Mhm. Hey, actually, that reminds me..." George set his shovel to the side and regarded Dream with curious eyes. "You never answered before. Why are you all this way out in the first place, anyway?"

There was no suspicion. No distrust. No signs of wariness that Dream was being anything but honest. Just innocent, genuine wondering. Maybe trusting him this easily was stupid in and of itself; in any case, it compelled the fugitive to give him... Well, not the _full_ truth, but not a complete lie either. Half-truths are usually a little easier on the conscience.

"I'm, uh... a wanderer, I guess you could say," answered Dream, since he technically _was_ ; he just left out the part where he was also a wanted man and being hunted down like a wild animal. "I just go wherever the wind leads me, taking on whatever comes my way. In this case, I guess that'd be your grand quest to kill the Ender Dragon."

The adventurer laughed lightly. "Heh, 'grand quest?' Try 'spur-of-the-moment death mission.' But that's a neat lifestyle you have there. Might have to give it a try, on the off chance I make it out of this alive."

"You probably wouldn't like it," Dream said, the building feelings of guilt challenging the increasing pain from staying shifted. "It gets pretty lonely." At least _that_ he could be honest about.

* * *

They finally finished planting the torches just before nightfall, and Sapnap made a big show of lighting them all up by shooting bolts of flame from the spot he was standing in. The camp consisted of a blazing fire that already had potatoes and pork chops cooking over it, the scent making Dream's mouth water. A quartet of travel-beds - beds designed specifically for travelling that could be easily stored in an Inventory - stood beneath the tree, alongside a very rickety-looking crafting table that looked ready to crumble to pieces at any moment.

Carrying a crafting table on a journey was not odd on its own - it can come in handy if you ever need to repair or replace any tools. Carrying one that would turn to dust at the slightest nudge, now _that_ was odd. Though judging by how the table was a mismatched hodgepodge of oak and birch wood, held together by what looked like honey and nothing else (even if the honey of wild bees was one of the stickiest things in the world), Dream could only assume it had been put together at some point earlier in the quest. Sheesh, how underprepared were these guys? It was bad enough that they weren't already stacked with iron, but if they hadn't even brought essentials then this really had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Actually, if the vibes Dream was getting from the group were accurate, this quest had most likely been Skeppy's idea, and he didn't seem like the type to plan too far ahead. As evidenced by how once Dream and George came over, he was nursing a burn on his hand and glaring at the remains of a potato that had fallen - or, more likely, been dropped - into the flames.

"I gotta say," said Sapnap as he sat down, "I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to sleeping out like this."

"Well, we brought tents, you could always use one of those," Bad replied, trying to knock the burnt potato out of the fire with his sword.

"No, I mean out _here_ , in the wild. With monsters and nature and stuff all around us. It's just so... I dunno, quiet."

"Really? It's kinda noisy if you ask me," said Dream, his ears sharp enough to pick up a lot more sounds than the average person could - though he was certain they still heard the wolves and foxes barking elsewhere in the woods, a sheep bleating from atop the ridge, and the monsters groaning and hissing beyond the torches, puzzled and frustrated by the light but keeping their distance. "Where'd you guys come from where _this_ is considered quiet?"

"Archspire," answered Skeppy, checking over his burn one final time. "Little town just south-ish of Greatstone City. Ever heard of it?" Dream shook his head, earning an eyeroll from the Gemfolk. "Tch. 'Course you haven't. Greatstone never gives us anything."

"Archspire's the leading coal provider for Greatstone," explained Bad, seeing Dream's confused expression. "It's a small town, sure, but it's lively and full of hardworking people. Day in and day out, someone's always up and about and getting something done, so even at night there's enough happening to keep up anyone unfamiliar with it."

"Greatstone doesn't like having to rely on smaller communities to gather resources for it," George continued. "It's not very big, it's just full of pompous rich snobs who consider themselves too 'high-class' to bother breaking a sweat on their city's behalf every once in a while. But they don't wanna sound weak and unreliable either, so they pay a bunch of the surrounding towns to do all the work for them and not get any of the credit."

"Well that's dumb," growled Dream, and it almost came out as an actual growl if he hadn't stopped himself at the last second. "I can't stand those types of people. If Notch had meant us to leech off the hard work of others he would've made us leeches, not Crafters."

Agreement sounded around the fire. "Yeah, well, that's one of the reasons we're on this quest in the first place," said Sapnap. "In addition to the whole Boss-power-harnessing thing. People who manage to kill just _one_ Boss always get their names in the history books, so imagine if a bunch of nobodies like us manage to bring down all three of 'em! It'll put Archspire on the map for sure, and Greatstone will HAVE to start giving credit!"

"What about you, Dream?" asked Bad. "Where are you from?"

"Yeah, you said you're a wanderer," said George, handing the masked man a pork chop. "Shouldn't you be used to all this noise?"

"Maybe, but I'm still kinda new to the whole wandering thing," Dream answered, glad to finally have a subject he could be mostly honest about. "Or, at least, I'm new to wandering through this much wildlife. I grew up in Nowhere."

"Nowhere? Like, the _Nowhere Badlands_ , where hope goes to die? _That_ Nowhere?" Skeppy asked, eyes wide with interest. And honestly, Dream couldn't blame him; the Nowhere Badlands were a harsh and unforgiving desert of reddish-orange sand and sunbaked mud, where water was scarce and signs of life even moreso. Legend said that the sand got its unique color from the blood of fallen travellers, whose spirits still haunted the wasteland to this day.

Still, for all the ghost stories and mysterious lone cow skulls (Why are there always cow skulls in the desert? And why is it always _just_ the skull? Did the body die somewhere else?), Nowhere had been Dream's home. His parents were vagrants, born and raised by the land, so the Dragonblood and his siblings had spent most of their formative years mapping out reaches of the Badlands that had never been seen by Crafter eyes before. It wasn't until he was nineteen that Dream set out on his own, eventually settling down in a little village not too far from the great red desert, yet an entire world away for him.

The memories washed a wave of nostalgia and homesickness over the hybrid as he spoke. "Yep. My mom and dad are professionals. They know just about everything necessary for survival out there - finding fresh water, using the stars for directions, not getting overheated, and, of course, fighting monsters for an entire night. I broke off and left a few years ago, stayed in a little place for a while, but I guess the wanderlust came back. That's what brought me out here." _Well, that and the psychopaths who want me dead just for existing,_ he thought to himself. It was true, though; he _had_ been getting a bit antsy before he started transforming.

"Wow," Bad breathed in amazement. "What a place to grow up."

"Is that why you have that mask, then?" asked Sapnap. "Is it like a cultural thing from out there? Uh, not that you have to answer or anything! Sorry, that's kinda crossing a line, I-I was just wondering."

Dream sighed. _There_ it was. He _always_ got asked about the mask at some point. "No... No, it's not a cultural thing," he answered. "Actually, I'd really rather not talk about it."

"O-okay. Sorry."

"It's fine. I get it a lot."

And with that the conversation moved on, passing to other subjects. Dream could only hope they didn't stay up too long.

* * *

Mercifully, the Muffinteers voted to hit the hay not long after finishing dinner. For a moment they were confused (and maybe even a little concerned?) about Dream's lack of a travel-bed, but the Dragonblood quickly explained that he was used to sleeping in trees (as much as his body would beg to differ). To prove it, he scurried up the nearby willow quick as a squirrel, comfortably stretching out on one of the lower branches and pretending to fall asleep immediately (in reality, the shifting pains were far too much to sleep through, but they didn't have to know that).

It wasn't until the fire was safely extinguished and Dream could hear snoring below his perch that he opened his eyes, _finally_ allowing himself to unshift, wings and tail sprouting out to hang limply off the branch with his arms and legs. Notch's Orchard, passing his Limit was _not fun._

He lay there for a few minutes, just breathing, relaxing his aching muscles. The sounds of the night seemed louder now that the Crafters below were asleep. Dream needed to sleep too, but not here. Not where he could be seen like _this._

Several more minutes passed before the hybrid moved, getting to his knees and reaching for a higher, more obscured branch. He struggled a little more than normal, still tired from shifting, but finally managed to haul himself up and onto the limb, laying out against it in his normal tree-sleeping position: head on one arm, tail wrapped around the branch, the rest of his limbs dangling lifelessly. As he drifted to sleep, the day's events replayed in his head, along with hope and speculation about where he and the Muffinteers would go from here.

If all turned out well, he'd be back to a perfectly normal human in no time, and he'd have gained four new friends along the way.

If not...

He decided not to think about if not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2,907
> 
> Whoever spots the _Phineas and Ferb_ reference in this chapter gets a free cookie.


	5. Nonexistence, But I Do Exist...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George talk. Dream doesn't like where it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Fact: Crossbow bolts are also called "quarrels."
> 
> Content Warning: Implied (kinda?) attempt at murder by throat-slitting, explaining to someone why they're not real (though you don't know that they're who you think doesn't exist). Please let me know if that first one warrants a T rating and/or Graphic Violence warning.
> 
> Friendly Reminder: Dream is afraid of heights.

_He was running._

_They were right behind him._

_Internally, Dream cursed himself for being so careless. Of COURSE there would be wanted posters up by now. Of COURSE people would know his face. Of COURSE they'd sound the alarm at first opportunity. Who wouldn't?_

_(Strangely, he felt hurt in a way other than physical. Only five diamonds? With the treatment he'd been getting, he'd thought he was worth at least an emerald or two.)_

_His heart burned in his chest, the End Crystal beside it matching its erratic beat. His left hand clutched the shoulder of the opposite arm, which stung from the arrow embedded in it. Mismatched eyes risked a glance behind him; the dark blue blurs amongst the shadows were far too close. He had to keep running._

_"Oh, Dreeeaaam!~" one of them called through the downpour - the blonde kid, if he remembered the voice correctly. "Stop running, you're just making it harder for yourself!"_

_"Don't let him get away!" came the demand of the odd one out, the only member of the group with a different uniform and accent._

_The Dragonblood hurdled a log as another quarrel whizzed by him, followed by the frustrated shout of the other kid. He had to give them credit - they were_ good _with a crossbow. His tail lashed out to scoop the bolt off the ground in passing, adding it to the small stack already in his Inventory. Distantly, he heard the thunk of one of his pursuers' legs hitting the log, and almost laughed at the word that followed it._ Maybe you'd see better if you took off those shades every once in a while, _he thought._

_The forest ended, opening onto a cliff that hung over the storming sea. Dream's eyes widened, his heels digging into the mud-slicked ground, but he didn't skid to a stop so much as slide to just shy of the edge. The dizzying drop to the raging waters and huge, jagged rocks below probably wasn't as far as it looked, but it was enough to make him lightheaded._

_He did_ not _like heights._

_Before he could come up with a plan of escape, a sharp pain dug itself into the back of his leg, causing him to cry out and fall to one knee. He reached back and grit his fangs as he pulled the arrow out; luckily, it hadn't stuck very deep, but the point was dark red with harming and tipped with his own magenta blood. At least it wasn't poison or weakness, those were always a pain to work out of your system._

_"Well, well, well." Just as the casual drawl registered in Dream's brain, something roughly grabbed the hood of his jacket and pulled him back, spinning him around and shoving him to the ground. A heavy weight pressed into the space between his wings, keeping him pinned down, and something cold and metallic came to rest against the side of his neck_ _. Dream lifted his head, just enough to turn it to the side before a hand gripped one of his horns and pushed him back down._ _Through the pelting rain, the eye that was still human stared in horror at the five figures surrounding him - four standing in a semicircle before him, the fifth directly on top of him with his knee digging into the hybrid's spine._

_The King's Finest._

Wait, no, this isn't what happened, they didn't catch me here, _some part of him realized._

_Each of the soldiers had their swords drawn and pointed directly at him, blades glinting despite the darkened sky above. The leader, a tall man with curly brown hair that almost matched his eyes, was the one on Dream's back; unlike his subordinates, his sword was made of diamond rather than iron, signifying his higher rank. His gaze met Dream's and sent chills through the Dragonblood - his eyes were cold, the eyes of a professional. The first look he'd ever gotten of them told Dream that this soldier was someone who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt every bit as much as the eventual capture of his prey._

_And right now, his prey was definitely captured._

But I wasn't, I escaped, I didn't see them for like a week after this-

 _"Seems you've reached the end of the line," the hunter said, his voice low and relaxed, as if he was in the middle of a polite chat over a nice cup of tea_. " _In situations like these, I usually offer two choices. One: Come quietly, and_ maybe _we'll convince His Highness to take it easy on you. Two..." At this he paused, moving his sword to lightly press it against Dream's throat. "We deal with you ourselves, right here, right now."_

_The hybrid swallowed, struggling and thrashing about beneath the (only slightly) taller man. He tried to move, tried to raise his arms, tried to bring up his tail and hit the hunter with it, but his enemy remained unfazed. He only gave a low, rumbling chuckle. "Is that a Two, halfbreed?"_

_"It's a... Get off me... And leave me alone," Dream choked out in a snarl. He couldn't **stand** how freaking **calm** this guy always sounded._

_The soldier chuckled again, this time accompanied by the rest of his team. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated their forms, decked in royal uniforms and enchanted armor. "I don't recall that being an option. See you in the next life, Dragonblood."_

NONONONO! _Dream's panicked mind protested as the cyan blade was moved further up his neck, agonizingly slowly._ This didn't happen, I wasn't caught, I didn't die here, I-I _can't_ die here, I don't, I don't-

* * *

"I don't wanna die!" The twisted memory disappeared as Dream's eyes snapped open, his body bolting upright so fast he almost fell off the branch (again). One hand flew to his chest, clutching his rapidly racing heart hard enough for his claws to dig into his skin. His other hand went first to his shoulder - no arrow - then to his neck. No slashes, no blood, no signs of injury. He was alive. He was unharmed.

He was _awake_.

Dream let out a sigh that was half relief, half exhaustion, collapsing back against the tree trunk. He panted slowly and heavily, keeping his hand on his chest as he tried to ease his nerves. Why, _why_ did all of his dreams have to be so _vivid_? Why had they been getting _worse_ lately? His life was already just shy of a living nightmare, why did his namesakes feel the constant need to remind him?!?

As his pulse steadied, Dream sunk lower, taking a second to get his bearings and clear his thoughts. Early morning sunlight shone beyond the leaves, signifying the start of a new day; his internal clock told him it was about seven-fifteen. He was in a willow tree, next to a lake at the foot of a mountain. He was no longer alone in his travels - he was with a team of adventurers on a quest to slay the Bosses. Doing so would _probably_ turn him back into a normal human. Possibly. Maybe. Hey, it wouldn't still be called a theory if it had been proven true by now.

"Dream?" The still-shaken fugitive started, flashes of his nightmare passing through his head. Just like yesterday, it took too long for him to recognize the voice from below. George. Not one of his pursuers. George.

For the first time, it dawned on him that British accents were _very likely_ not something that should trigger his fight-or-flight response.

"Dream? I heard you yell, are you okay up there?" George called again, sounding genuinely concerned. "You're not, like, getting attacked by a raccoon or something, are you?"

The Dragonblood took a moment to gather himself, remembering to shift before making his way down. "N-no, I'm fine, just had a bad dream," he answered, trying to brush off how bad it had been. "And before you say anything, no, the irony is not lost on me."

George laughed lightly, storing the regathered and rewrapped torches back in his Inventory. "Well, good to see someone else up at this hour. You can't get these guys out of bed for _anything_ before eight-thirty." He jerked a thumb back at the other, still-sleeping Muffinteers. "Well, except for Bad, but believe me, he's not the kind of person you wanna wake up."

"Mhm, the 'don't talk to me before my coffee' type, huh?" Dream asked, eyeing the peacefully snoozing Demon. "Honestly wouldn't have expected that from him."

"Ha, I wish! Nah, instead you get stuck with something Skeppy likes to call 'DrunkBoyHalo.' Watching him stumble around like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time stops being funny surprisingly quickly, and don't even get me started on trying to understand his half-coherent ramblings! I swear, he might as well be speaking Galactic."

Dream stifled a laugh, not wanting to wake the others. "Well, guess we got some time to kill, then. Any ideas?"

"Actually, yes." A thick book overstuffed with papers suddenly materialized in George's arms, prompting the adventurer to sit down heavily. He placed the book on the ground before him and opened it to a random spot, flipping through the pages from there.

Dream sat down next to him, catching glimpses of drawings and notes that went by too fast for him to make out. "What's this?"

"My field journal," George explained, not looking up. "Well, technically it's not really mine. I bought it from a Wandering Trader a couple years ago, and Notch knows where _they_ got it from. I don't know who it used to belong to, but they were one heck of an adventurer themselves. This thing's absolutely full of charts, maps, analyses on Mobs, information about magic, guides to speaking other languages, you name it! I thought it'd be helpful to bring along."

He finally stopped at a page that was full of math problems, the answers to a few circled and marked with either a flame, a muffin, a diamond, or a G. "I've mostly just been using it to keep track of our progress and resources. Y'know, plotting out a course, deciding when we should next gather food, that sort of thing." He took out a pencil, tapping its eraser against the page. "These were how I calculated the minimum amount of iron each of us needs - I'm the only one with a shield, we all still need armor and better picks, and Skeppy's been stuck with his axe this whole time. Worldedit can do some _crazy_ stuff, don't get me wrong, but it's not that great for close combat."

"'Crazy stuff?'" Dream echoed. "It's a flimsy little wooden hatchet, what could it _possibly_ do?"

"I could tell you, but it's really something that has to be seen to be believed. Anyway, we decided to mine a little extra iron in advance, in case we lose a sword or something. At the same time, we can't carry too much or else we'll just be weighed down. Since you're here now, I figured it'd be best to check what sort of gear you have and see if it drastically changes our initial plan. So..." He looked at the Dragonblood expectantly. "Anything you might need iron for?"

"Uh..." Dream thought for a minute, taking a look at his Inventory. In all honesty, he'd gotten pretty lucky - most people couldn't get this stuff just from Mob drops and a ruined portal. He'd fixed up the bow some, the axe and sword had proven useful (Looting III, can you imagine!), and the boots were better than nothing, even if he had no idea what he'd ever need Frostwalker for. And if he couldn't handle something with the weapons, his claws, fangs, and/or dragonbreath usually did the trick.

Then again, the sword, axe, and boots weren't made from a particularly durable material, and it wasn't like he'd get many chances to use his claws, fangs, and/or dragonbreath from here on out. Not unless he wanted to either do a LOT of explaining, or to get the first decent people he'd met in months trying to kill him.

Neither seemed very appealing.

That's why he said, "Uh, I guess everything. I've just got a couple Mob drops and some stuff I found outside a broken portal. And I think we all know how garbage gold is. Sorry." He shrugged, giving a sheepish grin and rubbing the back of his neck.

George nodded, turning back to the journal and writing down a new equation. "Well, if they don't break before we reach the Nether, they might at least come in handy. You could barter with the Piglins or something." He started counting something under his breath.

Dream opened his mouth to ask what they'd have to go to the Nether for - and how they would even get there in the first place - but something sticking out of the book stopped him. A piece of paper, further down the stack of pages, slightly crumpled and torn along the edges. Curious and careful not to disturb George, Dream reached forward, took hold of the paper, and pulled it out.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't.

It was a wanted poster. _His_ wanted poster. A near-perfect match to the posters that had been plastered all over the last signs of civilization he'd dared near. He didn't even need to look; he remembered the writing clear as day:

**WANTED**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

~~(Preferably dead)~~

ENDER DRAGON MOB-BLOOD

CRIMES: ARSON, LARCENY, MASS ~~HOMICIDE~~ GENOCIDE,

DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY, ASSAULT ON AUTHORITY, RESISTING ARREST

REWARD: ~~5 Diamonds~~ ~~15 Diamonds~~ ~~30 Diamonds~~

 ~~60 Diamonds~~ ~~15 Emeralds~~ 25 Emeralds

Huh. Those last three charges were new, as was the change from homicide to genocide. But geez, _another_ markup? And they _still_ hadn't updated the drawing! Come on, if you want someone dead just for existing, at least keep their portrait consistent with what they've been wearing lately!

...Is what Dream would have thought if he hadn't been paralyzed with fear, eyes wide and staring behind his mask.

_New charges. More things to justify my execution for. Raised bounty. More payment for whoever turns me in. No changes to the sketch. More reason to never let my face see the light of day again._

His nightmare passed through his head again - thunder and lightning crashing overhead, rain pouring around him, his cheek buried in the mud as a diamond sword ever-so-gently cut into his throat - and suddenly Dream felt very small, very scared, and very alone.

Exactly how he'd felt when he first realized what was happening to him.

Exactly how he'd felt when he first started running, the King's Finest hot on his heels.

Exactly how he'd felt when he first saw the posters, and the full reality of his situation delivered a brutal backhand straight to his face.

_I am going to **die**._

"Okay..." George's voice startled Dream back to reality. "Luckily, it doesn't look like you'll make much of an impact. Another full package just means losing out on an extra pick, but if we use what we already have until they break, we _should_ be able to hold over." He circled the newly-written answer to a problem and drew a smiley face next to it, and shut the book with a satisfied nod. "Of course, we still have to take into account how we'll divide up the extra iron, and then there's the matter of what'll happen if-"

"Why don't you believe in the Dragonblood?" The question left the hybrid's mouth before he could think.

George looked at him, confusion all over his face. "What?"

"Yesterday, back when we first met, you told Sapnap the Dragonblood wasn't real. That he's just something Captain Soot made up to keep his team occupied." Taking extra care to keep his face and voice controlled, Dream handed over the poster and pointed to the bounty at the bottom. "25 emeralds is a lot for something that doesn't exist."

The adventurer rolled his eyes at the flyer. "Well, frankly it all just seems too fishy. I mean, Mob-Bloods are already so rare, and they keep getting harder to find, and then there's the whole thing with Bossbloods in general. If all the legends and theories are true, then a Bossblood can only be born once a century, when the Bosses respawn, and there can only be one of each at a time."

"Yeah, but what if it's _been_ a century? What if the Bosses have respawned since the last time they were slain, and they've brought a new generation of Bossbloods with them?"

"Then their timing is _way too convenient_." George stuffed the paper back into the journal and returned it to his Inventory. "Seriously, rising hostilities in the East from a new lord who let the power get to his head, Techno up to his neck in attempts to peacefully quell it, and an _Ender Dragon Mob-Blood_ shows up just as some of his best soldiers - one of which has become somewhat infamous for acting first and never thinking later - start debating if they should get involved, which for them _definitely_ means starting a war? And said Mob-Blood evading capture from the best hunters in Arcticia for _three months straight_?" He shook his head. "Nah, it's all just a distraction so no one breaks down Schlatt's front door and tries to chop his horns off. I'm telling you, once he's dealt with, this whole 'Dragonblood' nonsense will stop and everything will go back to normal."

"I..." Dream paused, biting the inside of his cheek. To say he was taken aback would be a massive understatement. Wouldn't you be? How are you supposed to respond to someone who just explained, in extensive detail, why you shouldn't exist?

"...I never thought of it that way." That probably wasn't it, but it was better than nothing. George just shrugged.

Despite the human's presence, somehow Dream felt more alone in that one moment than he ever had over the last three months. He looked down at his hands, envisioning them as black talons with claws longer and sharper than the finest swords. He curled them into fists.

_I **have** to fix this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3,039
> 
> I'm not great at angst, but DANG am I gonna try for this fic! Don't worry, there will be fluff to balance it out soon enough.
> 
> If anybody's figured out who Dream's hunters are yet, you win a nice egg in this trying time.
> 
> Also, go back and check Chapter One if you already haven't! I added a little something to the beginning. ;)


	6. Author's Update

Hey y'all, sorry this isn't another chapter, but I think it's been long enough since the last one that you guys are due a quick update.

So, first off, I'm sorry Chapter Six is taking so long, but for the life of me I just can't figure out what to do with it. I keep switching between different ideas and scenarios but every time I get a ball rolling, writer's block latches on to my brain and completely drains all the creativeness from my body. It's not that I run out of ideas, it's just that I have no idea how to progress them without making parts of previous chapters feel redundant, with the only way of curing them to be rewriting them completely.

Which leads into my second thing: I've been debating starting this story from scratch lately. I know five chapters is pretty early to be considering a full-on reboot, but ever since I first started coming up with this AU, it's been growing and evolving at breakneck speeds into something beyond "Dream is half Ender Dragon" - but, since this is the closest and only thing I have to a proper outlet for it, I think I've been putting too much pressure on myself to skip through the slow-burn opening part and get to the good stuff. Which is kind of a problem because worldbuilding lore dumps are my strong suit while action scenes and emotional issues - aka, "the good stuff" - are my Achilles' heel.

I blame DragonForce for the first thing. I got into them right around starting this fic and they've instilled me with too many ideas that I don't have the patience to build up to.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm okay, I've just been having trouble figuring out a way to get on with the story. I'm not giving up yet, I'm just wondering if a fresh start could be what gets my creative juices flowing again. In the meantime, I want to say thank you for all the feedback I've gotten on this fic so far, and I would really appreciate it to hear your thoughts on what I've said here.

Don't worry: reboot or not, Dragonblood will return. Until then, I'll be seeing you.


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